The lesson
Austin had changed me, whether I liked it or not.
The night I stripped him down and put him back together—was the night he stopped being just a distraction. I saw a part of myself I hadn’t known was there. Protective. Watchful. Proud. And that realization unsettled me more than I cared to admit.
It was starting to get too confusing. The raw sexual desire for him was intense. His talented mouth, that firm arse, and that beautiful cock. I craved him. Yet the ‘Dad’ part of Daddy had taken on weight. Meaning. Responsibility. I not only wanted to help him grow into something stronger, sharper, more dangerous, but I also wanted to shield him from everything that had ever taught him to give himself away too easily.
I knew that the reality was that beneath all of it, I wanted him, his attention, his need.
I was twisted up between wanting him to need me and knowing my role was to make sure he didn’t need me at all. That truth scared me.
Initially, I told myself I needed clarity. Emotional distance. So I pulled back. For days, I kept my distance. Let his messages pile up.
I could see it was starting to get under his skin. I watched his anger build as I deliberately found reasons not to meet him—excuses layered on excuses. I saw the frustration on his face when I passed him by for other plans, each opportunity slipping away one by one.
I knew he wanted the next lesson. Wanted reassurance. Wanted me. The distance confused him, and I knew it—because it confused me too.
That was until one time he finally cornered me. Outside my apartment, catching me before I could unlock the door. Pushed me back against the door, hard enough that my shoulders slammed into the wood. I hadn’t expected his strength. The anger in his eyes stopped me cold.
“You don’t get to disappear,” he snapped. “You don’t get to tear me open and walk away.”
His words hit harder than his hands.
“You broke me down,” he said. “You made me look at myself. You promised to build me back up.” His voice cracked. “And then you made me feel connected to you. That wasn’t just sex. You made me believe I could rely on you.”
When I looked at him again, the fire in his eyes had shifted. Still bright—but wet now. Vulnerable.
Something inside me gave.
I lifted his chin, forced him to meet my gaze. “Austin,” I said quietly. “You got into my head. You made me feel things I didn’t plan for. I’m more invested than I expected to be.”
I swallowed.
“I tried to pull away because I thought I needed control. But the truth is—if I’m going to help you, really help you, I have to accept this.” I held his face steady. “The only way I protect you… is by making you strong enough not to need me.”
We stood there, breathing each other in, letting the truth settle between us.
Then we kissed—hard, certain, sealing the pact.
I pulled back first. “Come inside,” I said. “We can plan the next lesson.”
His smile came back instantly. Sharp. Knowing.
“And maybe,” I added, casually, “I’ll let you put that talented mouth to work while I enjoy a nice fat cigar.”
I caught the glint in his eye and shook my head, smiling despite myself.
As we stepped inside, I told him how impressed I was that he’d stood up to me. That he was able to push back. Then I warned him, half-joking, “If you ever shove me against a wall like that again, you’ll regret it.”
He just smiled.
“Don’t tempt me.”
—---------
That night, we decided it was time to take this lesson into the real world. The bars would tell us more than any lecture ever could.
We laid out the rules clearly.
Austin would go in first. Settle himself. Order a drink. Find a table. He was under strict instructions not to flirt—only to observe. To watch the room. To pay attention to the men around him and, more importantly, to what stirred inside him.
Who was watching him?
Who would old Austin go home with?
Who was he drawn to? - and, most of all
Who did he really want?
I wanted him to notice everything. The instinct to go for the easy win. The pull toward the man who wanted him? The urge to offer himself up instead of choosing.
He needed to find the men he wanted, regardless if they seemed attainable or not.
Notice it all—but do nothing.
I would come in twenty minutes later. My job was to watch. See how the room reacted to him. What kind of attention he drew. How men tried to place themselves in his orbit.
We headed over late in the evening. We knew the bar would be full and men would be ready and eager for action.
We pulled up in my black Dodge Charger—dark, discreet, unapologetically sexy. Austin got out and headed inside without looking back. I stayed put.
I lit a cigar and leaned into the seat, window down, arm resting on the door. The glow from the bar spilled across my face. I knew exactly how I looked—relaxed, dangerous, waiting. Trouble without needing to advertise it.
I wasn’t here to get the attention, yet, it didn’t take long.
Men lingered as they passed. Slowed their walk. Smoked cigarettes they didn’t really want just to stay nearby. Tried to catch my eye from the shadows.
I knew that with the slightest encouragement, any one of them would have crossed the lot without hesitation. I would just need to open the car door and would have cocksucker on his knees in seconds.
But I stayed where I was. Tonight wasn’t about me.
I finished my cigar, stepped out of the car, and headed inside. I could feel eyes tracking me through the dark, hopeful and curious. I ignored them all.
Inside, my boots announced my arrival. Black jeans stretched tight over my thighs, leather jacket shifting with each step, the faint scent of tobacco and musk trailing behind me. I took a stool at the bar and ordered a drink, letting the room settle.
Then I looked for Austin.
He was standing at a small cocktail table. Nothing about him had changed—jeans still hanging low enough to show the strap of his thong, abs on display, gold cross resting against the gap between his pecs. He was looking sexy as fuck.
He was talking with a young twink. Someone he clearly knew, comfortable, familiar, no desire.
Austin glanced my way, caught himself, and looked back at his friend. Good. He remembered the rules.
I watched the space around him.
Men hovered at neighboring tables, watching a little too intently. Others took unnecessary paths past him, searching for eye contact. Some tried not to look at all—flexing, posturing, laughing too loudly in the hope he’d notice anyway.
The truth was obvious.
If Austin gave even the smallest opening, any one of them would follow him out the door without hesitation. He didn’t need to try. He only needed to learn when—and who—to choose. But today he was doing exactly nothing.
I watched Austin. How he scanned the room. I felt it before I saw it—the moment his attention stopped drifting and locked. His focus went to a man sitting alone. A man who was clearly used to rooms bending around them. He was not paying much attention to Austin, at least obviously.
He certainly had his type.
When I saw enough, I stood, I did it without urgency. I caught Austin's eye once—flat, deliberate—then turned away and headed for the bathroom. Slow. Unhurried. No glance back. No signal beyond the certainty of movement. Like I already knew he’d follow.
I stopped at the urinal, relaxed, unguarded. The bathroom light was harsh, unflattering. It stripped pretense. I took my place and settled in, posture loose, peeing while I waited.
A moment later, he came in behind me. I saw him in the mirror, scanning the stalls, making sure we were alone. Careful. Nervous. Trying not to look like either.
I didn’t turn. I didn’t acknowledge him until I felt the shift—the way his presence tried to assert itself and failed.
I spoke softly. Calmly. Like instruction.
“You’re doing fine,” I said quietly, eyes forward.
He stiffened.
“We can't play this game all night. We need to decide what happens next,” I continued. “We need to shift the script.”
You have been drawing attention all night. Too much of it. Men still mistake your confidence for invitation, youth for weakness. They circle you convinced you’d give if pushed. We need to change this.
He swallowed.
I said. “Either, I pick for you and you try to prove to me that you can show them what control actually looks like, or you choose someone for me. I take him apart. You watch. Learn.”
Silence.
“I want to watch,” he said finally.
I smiled, “Of course you do, and I think I know who you have your sights on.”
Back at the bar, the air felt heavier. Not louder—denser. I reclaimed my seat and didn’t look around right away. Let the moment stretch.
When Austin returned to his table, I felt his attention snap back to me like a line pulled tight. He sat straighter. Quieter. Watching for cues. I didn’t give him one yet.
Our target was still there. Early forties. Tank top stretched tight over his muscle. Heavy boots. That casual arrogance men get when they’re used to being wanted. I noticed he'd arrived on a bike and parked it like a statement.
I caught his eye once. Just once. Then I looked away.
That was enough.
I let the silence work on him. Took a drink. Waited a good five minutes, then looked back again, brief, measuring. Not inviting. Not dismissive. Just enough to let the question form in his head.
He was restless now. Confidence was still there, but it had cracks. He was aware a new desire. Something he had not considered.
I looked at him a final time. Longer this time. No warmth. No challenge. Just expectation.
I felt his attention settle into something heavier. Less confident. Curious.
Eventually, he moved.
He approached the bar. When he sat beside me, I let the silence do the work. Let him wonder if he’d misread it. Let him feel the weight of committing without confirmation.
I turned before he spoke.
“You’ve been staring,” he said.
“Took you long enough to come over. Do I make you nervous?” I replied
He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
He blinked. Smiled. “Yeah. Not sure why. Something about you.”
I held his gaze. Didn’t smile yet. “That’s usually how it starts.”
He shifted. “Does it?”
“I don’t draw men who want easy.”
That landed.
“You’ve got me figured out,” he said.
“I’ve got you curious,” I corrected. “What’s your name?”
“Max.”
I looked him over slowly this time. Let it register. “This isn’t how it usually goes for you, is it? You’re used to being chased. Used to younger guys throwing themselves at you.”
His jaw tightened. He didn’t deny it.
“And now,” I continued, voice low, steady, “you’re standing here wondering.”
He exhaled. “You are right, I don’t usually go for men like you.”
“No,” I said. “But you’re here anyway.”
That made him smile—uneasy, interested.
“You can keep playing the same game,” I said. “Or you can come home with me and see what happens when you stop pretending you’re in charge.”
He hesitated just long enough to prove it mattered.
I turned toward him fully now. “Listen carefully.”
That snapped his attention cleanly into place.
I leaned in slightly—not close enough to touch. Close enough to narrow his options.
“If you come home with me,” I said, voice low and even, “You don’t get control unless I give it to you.”
His pulse jumped. I could see it in his throat.
“And another thing.” I paused. My gaze shifted over to Austin. See that guy over there. He's my boy and he needs to learn some lessons on how to be a man, so tonight you can expect to be watched”
I let that settle.
His eyes flicked—just once—toward Austin’s table. Then back to me.
That did it.
“Is that a problem?” I asked.
“No,” he said. Too quickly. Then steadier. “No.”
I got up and started heading to the door. Max was close behind. The sound of our boots on the hardwood floor was almost rhythmical.
Seeing us making a move, Austin quickly said his goodbyes and followed us. Leaving many disappointed men in his wake.
Outside, the night air was sharp and clean. I stopped near my car and didn’t open it right away.
Max rolled his bike close as I opened the door to my black Charger.
“Austin,” I said without turning, “come here.”
He did immediately. Close. Attentive. His energy was tight with restraint.
I turned to Max, “This is Austin,” I said. “He’ll be watching.”
Max raised a brow. “Your boy?”
“Mine.”
Austin smiled hearing me say that. He then added, “I am looking forward to seeing how my daddy works with his men.”
That caught Max off guard. He looked at me, then back at Austin. Whatever he’d thought tonight was going to be, it wasn’t this.
I liked that.
I turned to Max.
“What do you think?” I asked. “Do you mind being watched by Austin?”
“He won’t interfere,” I added calmly. “Not unless I tell him to.”
“Yes,” Max said, quiet and steady—but the flicker in his eyes told me he wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea of Austin being closer than just a witness.
I opened the car and slid into the driver’s seat. Austin got in beside me.
Max pulled on his helmet and swung a leg over his bike.
I pulled out first—slow, deliberate. I kept the pace controlled, made sure Max stayed behind me the entire ride. I watched him in the mirror, exactly where I wanted him. Following. Waiting.
When we arrived, the three of us stood there for a moment. The air felt heavier, charged, like something had already crossed a line none of us would step back over.
No one spoke.
I unlocked the door.
Inside, I told Max to sit. He dropped onto the couch without question. I reached for the fridge, then grabbed a beer —one for himself, one for me. Austin just stood there, nervous, uncertainty written all over him, unsure where he belonged in the room.
I stayed standing, legs spread, posture open and unashamed.
“Take it off,” I said flatly. “I want Max to see exactly what he doesn’t get to touch.”
Austin hesitated, then stripped. Shirt. Jeans. Thong. Every layer is gone. Slim, muscular, exposed.
I crossed to the closet, pulled out my box of toys. I opened for him. Leather. Chains. Steel. The weight of what awaited him became clear as I set it down.
Austin’s eyes followed every movement.
I took out the collar first. Heavy chain.
I stepped into his space, lifted his chin, and fastened it around his neck. The padlock snapped shut with a sharp, final click.
“That sound,” I said quietly, “is ownership. That chain means you belong to me. And he needs to understand that.”
I didn’t look at Max when I said it. I didn’t need to.
Then I picked up the cage.
Austin was already hard—nervous, needy, betrayed by his body. I took my time fitting the ring, easing it around him, trapping his cock and balls in cold steel. He sucked in a breath as the cage closed over him, tight, unforgiving. I locked it.
He stared up at me, stunned.
“You didn’t think I’d let you be free?” I said. “You’re here to watch. Not touch. That cock is mine—and tonight, it stays hungry.”
I pointed to my chair.
“Austin. Sit.”
He obeyed.
He looked obscene. Naked. Restrained. Cage gleaming against his skin. Collar hanging heavy at his throat. Unavailable and desperate all at once.
Max couldn’t stop staring.
I noticed—and smiled.
Then I turned fully to Max.
“But don’t get confused,” I added, stepping closer, voice dropping. “Your focus is here. I’m the one you’re dealing with tonight.”
I let that hang before finishing:
“Austin might be dessert—if you perform well.”
Max nodded slowly, excitement and uncertainty in his eyes.
As the silence stretched, Max held my gaze.
He was the picture of raw masculinity—legs spread wide, boots planted, leaning back into my couch like he owned the space. The black tank clung to his chest, the thin straps strained over broad, bulging shoulders. I let my eyes take their time, tracking the way his pecs pushed against the fabric.
He caught me looking and grinned, cocky and pleased with himself, his thick black mustache lifting to one side. He looked like he’d stepped straight out of a Tom of Finland sketch—too masculine to soften, too sure of himself to hide it.
His eyes followed me as I moved closer.
I stopped directly in front of him, standing tall between his spread legs, forcing him to look up at me. When I adjusted my growing cock, his gaze dropped immediately—my groin perfectly level with his eyes. I wanted him to see it. To understand what he was dealing with.
His eyes widened. He got it.
I reached down and grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back until it rested against the back of the couch. His mouth fell open without being told. I gathered saliva slowly, deliberately, then spat into his waiting mouth. Some landed on his tongue, the rest clinging to his mustache. He licked it up eagerly, swallowing without hesitation.
Good.
Keeping my grip tight in his hair, I shoved his head forward, pressing his face hard into my crotch. He buried himself there, rubbing his face against the weight and heat of me. His tongue pushed out, tracing the outline through the fabric, desperate to taste. I held him down, forcing him to breathe me in, to take the scent, to feel how close he was and how little control he had.
I looked down at him. “You didn’t come here to hesitate,” I said coldly. “Now show me.”
His hands flew to my belt, clumsy with need. He fumbled at the buckle, fingers shaking as he struggled to undo it. The urgency was almost embarrassing—but I let him struggle. When he finally got it open, he was quick with the buttons.
My cock was held tight in a jockstrap, straining, waiting.
He hooked his fingers under the elastic and pulled it down, releasing me fully. He froze for half a second, just staring—taking in the weight of it, the proof of what he’d earned.
Then he went for it.
He didn’t waste time. He grabbed me and took me straight into his mouth, sinking down fast and hungry, driving himself all the way to the base. I hadn’t expected that kind of need from him—but it was there, raw and unapologetic.
He wanted it.
Badly.
He held me there for a moment, staying down, grounding himself. Then he drew back slowly, deliberately, easing his way up until he reached the tip. He lingered there, circling the head with his tongue, slow and teasing, sucking with careful attention like he was savoring it. Then he went back down again—slower this time—taking me deeper, his mouth stretching to accommodate my full girth.
When he found a rhythm, I tightened my fist in his hair and began to dictate it for him. I pulled him up and drove him back down, setting the pace, pushing him past what was comfortable. Each stroke forced him to take more than he wanted to, his breath catching, spit slicking everything as it ran freely down my length.
The next time he went down, I didn’t let him come back up right away.
I held him there, firm and unmoving, while I looked over at Austin. He was squirming in his seat, hips shifting, his cock visibly straining against the cage. I made sure he had a clear view—Max struggling, choking, trying to take all of me at once. When Austin finally looked up at me, his face was open with jealousy and need.
I smiled at him.
Only then did I loosen my grip, letting Max rise slowly back to the tip again.
Grateful for the air, he looked up at me with a crooked, satisfied smile. That was enough.
My turn.
I bent down and kissed him hard. His lips were wet—slick with saliva and the taste of me. Our mouths worked against each other, tongues pushing and testing, neither willing to yield. I broke the kiss first, dropping down to my knees between his spread legs.
My hands slid up under his tank top, palms flat against hot skin, feeling the dense muscle underneath. I squeezed his chest hard, enjoying the way it pulled a sound from him. I dragged my mouth along his neck, licking and biting slowly, deliberately, until his breath went uneven.
I pulled the tank top up and over his head and tossed it aside. My mouth followed the lines of his body—down over his chest, across his abs—taking my time. I bit and licked where I knew it would get to him, listening to the way his control slipped.
When I reached his waist, I planted my hands on his thighs and pushed them wider, opening him up for me. I undid his belt carefully, unhurried, and freed him from his pants.
I didn’t hesitate.
I took him into my mouth with the same hunger he’d shown me, swallowing him down and working him with intent. When he tried to grab my head, I caught his wrists and shoved his hands back.
“No,” I said. “I dictate how this goes.”
He obeyed—arms stretched along the back of the couch, chest open, exposed. I made sure Austin had a clear view as I went back down on him again and again, unrestrained now, taking him deep and thorough, my tongue tracing every inch like I was committing him to memory.
I made him feel it.
And I made sure Austin saw every second.
I gave him a few minutes to breathe—just enough to recover—then slid my hands to the waistband of his jeans. Slowly, deliberately, I worked them down over his hips, stretching the fabric past his thighs, past his knees, until his legs were trapped and his body was fully exposed to me.
His balls hung heavy and full.
I lifted his legs, pushing him further back. I buried my face into his balls, taking each one into my mouth, sucking them deep, pulling gently, then harder. He leaned back with a low moan, hips lifting instinctively, surrendering to it. I could tell immediately—he loved this. Loved having his balls used, loved the way I claimed them with my mouth.
He raised his legs higher, jeans binding just enough to keep him open. My tongue slid further back, finding him there—pink, flushed, waiting. I didn’t stop to ask what he liked. It didn’t matter. Right now, he belonged underneath me.
I spread his cheeks with my hands and leaned in, licking his arse slow and deep. I worked my tongue around him, tasting him, tracing every edge until his body started to shake. I stayed there longer than necessary, savoring the way his moans broke down into breathless sounds, the strain in his legs as he held himself open for me.
When I finally stood, I freed him completely—boots off, jeans gone. Naked now, stretched out against the couch, abs tight, legs raised, offering himself without hesitation. I angled him slightly, just enough so Austin could see.
I looked over at him and smiled.
My cock was hard, aching. I worked it with my hand, slicking it with my own precum, then lined myself up. Max didn’t resist—his body opened easily, his breath hitching as I pressed the head of my cock against him and slowly pushed inside.
I took my time.
Watching him stretch around me was everything. The way his body reacted—tight, straining, wanting even as it burned. I pushed deeper, inch by inch, until I was fully seated inside him, his legs hooked over my shoulders, his hands gripping the couch as his moans turned sharp and desperate.
I started to move.
Slow at first, then harder, building a brutal rhythm that rocked his body against the cushions. His sounds filled the room—broken, needy, begging. I forgot about everything else until I remembered Austin watching, his hunger thick in the air.
That’s when I pulled out.
I hauled Max up by his pits, then spun him around, bent him over the coffee table. Spreading his legs wide, presenting himself fully. Staring directly at Austin. I could see the rage building in Austin's face watching Max eagerly awaiting the assault that was to come.
I reentered him from behind, hard and deep, gripping his hips as I fucked him raw.I looked straight at Austin as I drove into Max again and again.The power of it—having him like this, open and shaking—sent Austin over the edge just watching
“You see this?” I said. “You see how he takes it?”
Austin couldn’t look away.
Max turned his head just enough to smile—knowing exactly what he was doing to both of us.
I fucked him harder, faster, sweat dripping, muscles burning, until the pressure snapped. I shot deep into Max, each load sending waves through my body. When I was done, I stayed buried deep, spilling everything inside him, holding him there as he clenched around me, gasping.
When I finally pulled out, we were both wrecked.
But I wasn’t finished.
I looked over at Max. He was spent, chest rising and falling—but his cock was still hard, twitching, demanding attention.
I pushed him back against the couch and dropped to my knees, taking him into my mouth again. Slow. Deep. This wasn’t for me. It was for Austin. I wanted him to see it—to see how completely Max gave himself.
Max didn’t last long. I felt it in the way his body tensed, the sharp intake of breath. He grabbed my head and held me down as he came, spilling deep into my throat. I took it all, swallowing every drop without pulling away.
When he finally released me, Max collapsed back, utterly spent.
I stood and turned to Austin.
Even without being touched, he looked wrecked—frustration and need written plainly across his face. He was begging without saying a word.
I pulled him in and kissed him hard, letting him taste Max on my tongue. His body trembled under my hands. He wanted more. I knew it.
I looked him in the eye and said quietly, “Maybe Max and I go for a second round—after a drink and a cigar.”
A slow smile spread across his face.
I turned back to Max. “You up for more?”
He grinned.
“Yeah,” he said, a little too quickly. “I sure will be.”
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